


i'll bring you coffee with a kiss on your head

by gudetama (elementary)



Series: say you won't let go [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alpha Newt, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Married Couple, Married Life, Omega Original Percival Graves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 06:10:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11202078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elementary/pseuds/gudetama
Summary: The married life of Newt Graves-ScamanderorIn which Newt is spectacularly bad at talking, Percival is a doting husband, and sometimes you need to trust your instincts





	i'll bring you coffee with a kiss on your head

**Author's Note:**

> This takes approximately two months after the end of 'you make me feel this way somehow'.
> 
> It's from Newt's POV which was interesting to write after spending a whole month in Percival's head. I can't believe how cheesy I am ugh

Newt opens the door to their bedroom to the exact same sight he left it. His mate is still quietly asleep on his stomach on their shared bed, the bare skin of his back exposed and illuminated softly by the rays of sun filtering through the curtains. He walks over and sits carefully on the empty side, smiles when the smell of coffee stirs the sleeping man.

He hears sounds muffled into the pillow, cannot even begin to guess what is being said. Instead of trying to decipher it, he sets down the mug in his hand on the bedside drawer before playfully running his fingers down his mate’s spine. The muscles underneath them twitch in sensitivity, and Percival makes a protesting noise.

He sees Percival’s head turn the other way, no longer buried in the pillow, and hears clearly in a grouchy, sleep-rough voice, “It’s too early for that, Newt.”

Newt replies, “I know, I just want to touch,” and leans down, presses a kiss between those strong shoulders.

Percival hums at that, mumbles, “Okay.”

Newt runs his fingers through Percival’s hair that is now back to its original length after an incident where an angry wizard had sought revenge on Percival.

The man had tried to ambush his mate and Percival had dodged his attempt to grab him. Except his tail had been caught and as the wizard pulled, his mate had severed the locks without hesitation according to Senior Auror Mathews who had been with him at the time. The man had been quickly apprehended afterwards, charged with assault against the Director of Magical Security.

Newt remembers vividly even after a month how his heart had nearly stopped when he saw his mate walk into the Investigations room, disheveled, hair shortened with the ends jagged and uneven, and he hadn’t even processed it fully before rushing towards him, demanding what had happened while shakily clutching at him.

He presses his lips together unhappily thinking about how close that stranger with harmful intent had come to his mate’s neck, how one wrong move could have endangered him so. Although he misses the long, silky locks that Percival used to have, having enjoyed combing his fingers through them over and over again to make his mate purr in content, it’s nothing compared to his safety.

“I thought I was the grumpy morning person out of the two of us.”

Percival’s voice snaps Newt out of his thoughts and he sees that Percival is now facing him.

“Are you thinking about my hair again? I won’t be growing it no matter how much you miss it.”

Although it’s said teasingly with a smirk, it makes Newt frown and he leans over, presses his nose into Percival’s nape and breathes in comfort. His mate doesn’t say anything, just lets him do what he wants. Along with Percival’s natural, wonderful scent, Newt also smells faintly the evidence of their activities from last night. Knowing that they would have nothing today, he and Percival had joined their bodies together repeatedly throughout the night, drawing pleasure from one another and basking in the intimacy of being mates.

The dance of his fingertips become caresses with his whole hand along smooth skin as he smiles into soft flesh before mouthing gently at it. He loves seeing his mate soft and relaxed, and even during the heights of their passion he can see how his mate opens up to him with complete trust. It’s a feeling to which he is unashamedly addicted.

Percival starts to react, instinctively pressing into Newt’s touches, his deep, even breathing becoming shallow.

“Newt,” Percival groans, “Too early.”

With a nip and a light scratch, Newt draws back, sitting up again. He stretches back and picks up the mug, lifts it out of the way when his husband tries to reach for it. He laughs at the glare he receives.

“What about after coffee?”

“Holding my cup hostage won't save you,” Percival growls.

“It’s more of a bribe, actually,” Newt replies jokingly.

“Give me that and I won’t feed you to your nundu. How about that? Or I can jinx you in the next ten seconds.”

Newt wants a kiss first, but he knows he’s pushing his luck so he helps his mate sit up and lean against the headboard of the bed, a pillow placed behind his back. The sheet that had been covering Percival slides off and Newt can’t help but glance over him, spotting some of the marks he left on various part of that body. He wants to touch them but he also values his life, so he just sits pressed up against Percival after handing over the mug and watches his mate drink contently.

He had discovered early on in their mated life that Percival had been holding back on him. His husband is the worst morning person, growling and grouching and generally acting very disgruntled about everything until he gets some caffeine in his system.

Percival isn't the most affectionate of people to begin with but Newt had been very shocked the morning after their first intimate night together as mates when increasingly harsh words were thrown his way for no apparent reason other than his mate experiencing a little soreness (even though he had been in bliss mere hours before). Percival had been inconsolable, frustrated and aggressive, and Newt, quite hurt, had escaped into his suitcase in the corner of their hotel room and didn’t come out until after the morning round of feeding was done.

He had climbed out to the sight of his mate sitting distraught on the bed, dressed loosely in a shirt and trousers, a cup of coffee in his hands. When he had looked up at Newt with something akin to fear in his eyes, Newt had gone to him immediately, embraced him, and listened as Percival explained his unusual behaviour.

_“I owe you an apology,” Percival says quietly, regret heavy in his tone._

_He doesn’t meet Newt’s eyes, opting to stare down at his lap, fingers turning white from gripping the cup too hard._

_“Alright,” Newt replies slowly, uncertainly, because he must have done something wrong; Percival wouldn’t be angry at him for no reason. “I—me, too—”_

_“No!” Percival snaps, cutting him off, making Newt flinch._

_And then Percival looks even more upset when he raises his head, and he reaches out to hold Newt’s hand. “No,” he says softly, “you haven’t done anything wrong, Newt. It’s—me. I have—”_

_Percival stops suddenly, then he starts turning red to Newt’s surprise. Newt thinks it unwise to say anything else at this point, so he just waits._

_Eventually, Percival says in a rush, “I don’t wake up well in the morning. It’s—I don’t enjoy very much the sensation of waking and it takes a while for me to be coherent. And until then, usually with the help of coffee, I’m rather irritable.” Then after a beat, “Beyond irritable, I suppose.”_

_Newt is sceptical, because... “But this never happened, and—and we’ve been sleeping together in the same room for a long while before—before...” he trails off, still confused._

_“I know,” Percival sighs. “After... yesterday, I must have felt completely safe with you as a result of the, hm, physical bonding. The only other people who know of this is my family.”_

_It isn’t what he had expected. On one hand, he is honoured that his mate has come to a place of complete trust and safety with him to show this side, but on the other hand, Newt can still feel the sting of the words that had been hurled at him earlier. His inner conflict must show on his face because the next thing he knows, Percival is climbing onto his lap, coffee nowhere to be seen, and Newt is momentarily distracted by his gorgeous mate sitting on him. Both of his cheeks are cupped gently and his head is raised to meet Percival’s apologetic gaze._

_“It doesn’t excuse at all what I said, I know, and I can’t promise that you won’t be hurt by this again. But please understand that it isn’t personal, not at all. I love you very much,” Percival reassures, then wraps his arms around Newt’s shoulders, embraces him. “I’ll try to get better.”_

_There is a note of vulnerability in those last few words and it finally spurs Newt into motion. He hugs back tightly and nuzzles against the base of Percival’s throat._

_“Sorry,” Newt mutters, pulling back to look at Percival again. “I might have overreacted a little.”_

_“Don’t,” Percival tells him sternly, eyes narrowing. “Although I couldn’t have known this would happen with you, you don’t need to apologise for how you reacted.”_

_Newt just nods, heart slowly unclenching as the anxiety dissipates. “I can help, too, you know. Bring you coffee if I wake first, yes?”_

_“That might help,” Percival agrees before drawing closer and kissing Newt._

_Newt lets out a delighted noise, feeling better already. He loves that Percival likes kissing so much as it is definitely Newt’s favourite way of receiving affection. His arms slide down to settle comfortably around his husband’s waist and he pulls the man even closer. He also loves this newfound intimacy they share, no longer needing to hold back their desires to be physically close._

_He’s pushed back suddenly and Newt falls onto the bed with a yelp. Percival is above him, hands on both sides of Newt’s head, and he looks down at him with desire. In response, Newt feels that same urge from last night rising within him, the urge to claim his mate and pleasure him. He growls when Percival smirks, reaches up to drag the man down—_

“—listening? Newt?”

Newt blinks, and his eyes focus on Percival’s annoyed face.

“Were you daydreaming?” he asks knowingly.

“No?” Newt replies, trying not to look caught.

Percival frowns. “If you’re tired, you should go back to sleep.”

“I’m not, really,” Newt denies immediately. “I was just thinking about when I started to bring you coffee in the morning.”

True to his word, Percival is better than before. Either that or Newt is simply used to it. Or both. Now, Newt feels comfortable enough to tease him lightly without feeling threatened and he fully appreciates that he is the only one outside of Percival’s family that gets to see this side of his husband. Thankfully, it doesn’t happen all the time because sometimes Percival is the first one up and so he also appreciates being able to wake to a smiling and affectionate mate.

But honestly, with how much coffee Percival actually drinks, it must be more of a placebo effect than an actual biological reaction to the chemical. But who is Newt to question what his mate believes?

Percival lets out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes briefly. “Let’s not think about those days; I was afraid I would end up permanently damaging you somehow.”

“But I recall some parts very fondly—”

“Shut up, Newt.”

And Newt doesn’t even bother with his usual rebuttal that comes first, just plucks the empty mug out of Percival’s hands and pulls him in by the neck for the kiss he has been waiting for. Then he lets Percival go with a slight grimace.

“Not really the best combination of tastes, is it,” he thinks aloud.

His mate looks both unimpressed and amused. “You say some variation of that every single time and never bother to listen when I tell you to wait until I brush my teeth.”

“You’re too hard to resist,” Newt explains, frowning.

“I’d kiss that pout off of you but I’ll go clean up first.”

“What pout? I’m not pouting,” Newt says indignantly.

Percival rolls his eyes in that fond way of his when he thinks Newt is being cute. It doesn’t make him feel better.

“Whatever you say, alpha,” is his careless reply as he slides himself to the edge of the bed and stands.

Newt watches, mouth dry and eyes wide, as his mate stretches in the sunlight. Percival winces slightly at the aches that must be in his body and places a hand just above his shapely backside to rub there as he heads towards the bathroom.

“Percival,” Newt calls as he scrambles off the bed—ignoring the thunk of the mug falling on the floor—to follow him. “Let me help you shave?”

Newt has been teased many times for his obsession (it’s _not_ ) with taking blades to the hairs on Percival’s body and Newt has given up on denying it. It’s just one of the ways he likes taking care of his mate and also one of the few ways that Percival indulges him when he asks. It’s an act of absolute trust to allow Newt to do so and he does not take it for granted.

He waits for Percival to finish relieving himself before entering, watches as he washes his hands then starts to brush his teeth.

Another thing Newt had discovered is that there are some things Percival prefers to do manually and others that he alternates with magic depending on how he feels. He had said something about practicing his dexterity and retaining certain necessary skills in case he cannot use his magic. Newt hadn’t pried when he saw Percival’s expression darken as he said that, but somehow he had understood it was something to do with Grindelwald.

As soon as he’s done, Newt presses him against the counter and kisses him deep and wet like he had wanted. Percival lets him in when he starts biting at the bottom lip and Newt immediately licks in, delighting in the pleased moan of his mate. Percival’s hands tangle in his hair and tug lightly on the strands, drawing a moan from Newt as well. Newt’s own fall on strong hips, thumbs stroking along the skin there before sliding up the sides and around his back. He can’t hold them still—running up along the spine, down the stomach, over the roundness of his ass—it’s _impossible_. His mate starts to tremble, becoming restless.

Newt pulls away first, grins at Percival’s whine. “After shaving, then?”

Percival, flushed, panting, and eyes glazed over with the beginnings of arousal, licks his lips and nods. “Yes, alright, so be quick about it.”

But despite what he says, they take it slow as per their usual way of doing this. Newt carefully, gently glides the blade over his lips, cheeks, chin, his jaw, and his beautiful, bared throat. Percival sits absolutely still on the closed lid of the lavatory, eyes shut, breathing in and out slowly. He moves his head where Newt’s fingers guide him and today is one of those days that Newt feels slightly overwhelmed by Percival’s trust in him. He stops to breathe deeply before continuing, and after finishing, he wipes off the excess cream and cleans his face thoroughly with warm water. Percival then applies some balm to the newly-shaved skin and lets Newt rub their cheeks together and nuzzle below his jaw. His mate purrs in response to his pleased rumble.

When they’re back in the bedroom and lying down facing each other, his mate strokes his cheek and smiles softly at him. It’s the particular smile that’s reserved for him and it never fails to fill his heart with warmth.

“You can be rather adorable at times,” Percival says and smirks when Newt narrows his eyes.

“I’m a fully-grown, thirty-two-year-old alpha,” Newt points out.

“Of course,” Percival confirms, but for some reason, Newt gets the feeling he’s just indulging him.

Then Percival leans in for a kiss and they pick up right where they left off.

They make love slow and gentle this time and Newt relishes in every gasp, whimper, and moan he draws from his mate. He wonders as he tends to do every now and then what he did to deserve this, to have such a wonderful man in his arms to call his husband, his partner for life. He drowns in Percival’s scent and warmth and thinks that he loves him so, so much.

They blink sleepily at each other afterwards, Newt on his side and Percival on his stomach again. He watches his mate close his eyes and inhale deeply, then smile in something like wonder.

“It smells like us,” he hears him murmur, then he opens his eyes again. “It smells like us, Newt.”

Newt takes a deep breath as well, sighs happily as the mixed scent of him and Percival reaches his nose. “Yes, it does.”

“It smells like us,” Percival repeats a little quieter, “like you and me, together.”

Something about the way he says it gives Newt an impression that he’s missing something important, so he’s a bit hesitant when he jokes, “You’ll never be able to get rid of it.”

Percival blinks slowly at him, silent and solemn, and Newt starts to think that maybe he should have said something else or nothing at all. But then Percival smiles again, blinks a little wetly this time.

“Yes,” he says, voice a little rough with something. “Never.”

 

 

They are dressed and eating a late breakfast close to lunchtime because they had fallen asleep wrapped around each other shortly after their lovemaking. Neither of them are spectacular at cooking but with a little help from Queenie (and also indirectly, Jacob), they’ve started to understand the basics and are able to utilise some of the simpler recipes. It certainly doesn’t take a genius to fry some eggs and toast bread although Percival would disagree, firmly of the opinion that cooking is another field of magic of its own. Newt had shrugged when he first heard it, figuring he’d end up doing most of it since he is already familiar with the practice of concocting.

He thinks about learning to make a pastry or two because his mate seems to have a liking for them, but none of the others that they’ve tried are as fantastic as Jacob’s, really. And it saddens him, reminds him with a painful tug on his heart of that time when he had thought everything had been ruined between them. He will never forget the sight of Percival’s face so vulnerable and hurt for a brief, heart-stopping moment before shutting down completely, the chill that had gripped his own heart, the despair as he had watched the man walk out of the store while his own feet remained frozen.

He remembers crying afterwards, heedless of his friends around him, their apologies. The sisters had found out that day his feelings towards Percival, and couldn’t bear to look at him after realising.

He doesn’t realise he’s crying now, lost in his own head, until Pickett tugs at his ear to bring him back to the present.

“Newt?”

Newt flushes and hastily scrubs his face, sniffles. Percival looks at him worriedly from across the table, offering a hand for Newt to take which he does immediately. He breathes out shakily as he squeezes to reassure himself, hating how some memories resurface even when he tries so hard not to think about them. He doesn’t mean to, but sometimes he’ll be thinking about a harmless idea like cooking, and somehow his mind will unconsciously associate it with something that will trigger the memory.

It hasn’t happened all that often, and only when he’s alone. For a while, Leta used to be a recurring torment; but right now, it’s about his mate who has seen him start to cry for no apparent reason.

“Sorry—” he says automatically, trying to smile, “Sorry. Just remembered a bad dream I had earlier.”

Percival presses his lips together, those intelligent eyes keen and doubtful, but he mercifully doesn’t question it. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Never. “Not right now. Please.”

“Alright,” Percival nods slowly, “but remember it’s not good to hold it in. I know that from firsthand experience.”

“I’m sorry,” Newt repeats, choking on a sob, “I cry too much, don’t I.”

He’s confused as to why he can’t stop this time. Mere minutes ago, he had been happily sharing a meal with his husband, listening to Pickett chatting away in his ear and watching Dougal on his husband’s lap trying to steal bits of food off of his plate. He scrubs at his eyes harder and tries to hold his breath, fails and sobs again. He hears a chair scraping on the floor and Percival lets go of his hand and Newt panics because he’s leaving _again_ , no, please don’t—

He gasps when he’s suddenly pulled up out of his own seat and he stumbles as he’s dragged somewhere but he can’t see because of his tears. He’s pushed onto the couch and he doesn’t have time to protest before he’s enveloped in strong arms and his face is tucked into Percival’s neck where his scent is the strongest. He’s rocked gently as the tears fall faster and harder, and a warm hand rubs his back the whole time. Newt heaves for breath in between sobbing and it’s hard to get air because of how he’s pressed against Percival but he can’t bear being away from his mate’s scent right now.

Percival waits for him to calm down and doesn’t tell him to stop crying, not once. He never has. He doesn’t care that Newt’s tears and saliva and running nose are soaking his shirt and skin, only pulls him closer when Newt’s hands scramble for him desperately.

It takes a while, but Newt eventually stops, hiccupping and gasping as the last few tears are squeezed out from between his closed lids. It’s hard to open them because of how swollen and sticky they are and Newt can only imagine what a mess he must be. He’s pulled off, the damp shirt peeling from his face and doesn’t realise he starts to whine until his mate hushes him. A warm, wet cloth that Percival has somehow prepared is wiped all over his face, cleaning it of fluids. It’s embarrassing and Newt can feel himself flush, but Percival doesn’t say anything as he softly rubs it over every surface and down his neck.

They’re both quiet except for Newt’s hiccups and sniffles, and Lady’s occasional chirp from the other couch. When Percival’s done, he removes his own shirt and wipes himself down, too, before tossing the cloth away. His husband gazes at him with sadness and concern while holding his hand, and Newt swallows around a lump in his throat.

“I’m sorry—” he starts, but Percival cuts him off with a sharp glare and a shake of his head.

It’s another few minutes of Newt shying away from Percival’s assessing stare before his mate finally speaks.

”You already said you don’t want to talk, so I won’t force you,” he says calmly, “but I ask that you don’t suffer alone when I can be here for you. You’ve already done too much of that.”

It’s a sincere request and Newt can see the plea in his eyes. He feels guilty again for worrying the man, and he’s starting to realise it might be worse if he continues to hide it. He has tried to convince himself several times already after a bad memory haunted him that it will get better soon, that it will be the last. He wants to be strong for Percival, reliable and trustworthy and this isn’t something he should burden his mate with, but...

“Here,” and Percival somehow has a cup of water, too, and Newt finally notices Dougal as he shuffles away from them.

Newt drinks it gratefully and it helps him cool down a little, his body feeling warmed from all the crying. He feels a little more settled after that, and he tries to laugh at this ridiculous situation but it doesn’t come out as light-hearted as he had intended. It sounds bitter and self-deprecating even to his own ears and he reflexively tenses when he hears Percival sigh.

“We should go out.”

Newt blinks at the non sequitur. “What?”

Newt is dragged up and he follows along, up the stairs, confused. Percival nudges him into the bathroom, tells him to wash up and get dressed before ruffling Newt’s hair and heading to the closet. Newt just gapes for a few seconds, unsure of what is happening, then quickly moves when Percival clears his throat. He washes his face with cool, clean water and attempts to brush his hair which goes about as well as it usually does; that is to say, not well at all.

By the time he’s done, Percival is already dressed in simple black trousers and a grey shirt, just finishing tucking the shirt in before a belt levitates out of the closet and loops around his waist. Newt admires his well-dressed form for a moment, thinking that his mate is quite a magical sight himself. Percival notices and beckons him over.

“Dress warmly; it will be quite chilly outside,” Percival says as Newt nears. “I will go put the creatures in your case, so take your time, sweetheart.”

Newt nods and watches his mate leave before turning back to the closet. His hand freezes in midair while reaching for a shirt, finally registering what Percival had called him. He feels his mouth stretching wide in a grin even as he blushes. It’s the first endearment he has ever heard from his husband and Newt hastily changes his clothes so he can go join him as soon as possible.

His case that had been left in the kitchen is closed but the latches are open, and Newt climbs down, nearly falling in his haste. He jumps down the last couple steps just in time for a furry ball to smack him in the face and he grabs it out of ingrained reflexes.

“Bill!” Percival shouts as he runs through the door and stops when he sees Newt. “Good, you caught him. Would you mind getting my ring back?”

Newt narrows his eyes at Bill who just blinks innocently at him, and he proceeds to turn him over, catching the object just as it falls out. He holds it out to Percival who takes it back.

“That’s the second time,” his mate huffs, sliding the ring back on his finger.

“I think he just wants your attention,” Newt observes curiously. “It’s the only thing he had.”

“It was the only thing around for him to _steal_ ,” Percival points out. “The little sneak was waiting right at the door.”

Newt feels giddy, hearing his mate speak of his creatures with such fond exasperation. He tucks Bill under one arm and wraps the other around Percival’s waist to pull him in for a kiss. They share a few light ones before Percival pushes him back.

“Alright, enough; we should get going,” he says, then plucks Bill from his grasp.

He gestures for Newt to go ahead before turning around and walking out, but Newt immediately follows and closes the door behind him. He attaches himself to Percival’s back, laughs at the man’s cursing as he stumbles from Newt’s added weight.

“Merlin. If anyone else saw, they would think you’re the one who has attachment issues, not Pickett.”

The comment hits a little too close to home and Newt tenses for a minute before forcing himself to relax. He knows his mate doesn’t mean anything by it, or at least that’s what he tells himself. He’s still feeling a bit raw from earlier and it’s hard not to be paranoid or read too much into what is being said at the moment.

He doesn’t know why he has become like this, despite his philosophy being avoiding suffering twice. It doesn’t seem to work when it comes to Percival.

Newt wonders if Percival is that intuitive, because he doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t tell Newt to let go or try to pry him off. He just walks the best he can with Newt’s hold on him and they both watch Bill dive happily into his hoard. They both check their hands at the same time to see both rings present, and Newt smiles when Percival snorts.

He stands and walks properly on their way back but an arm stays wrapped around Percival, only letting go when he lets the man climb out first. He locks the suitcase properly and puts it away in their bedroom before putting on his coat and leaving the house with his mate. After checking the wards, Percival takes Newt’s hands and mutters a charm that will keep them warm temporarily. The December air isn’t as cold as Newt had expected, but the warmth is still very much appreciated.

“I’ve been meaning to buy you a pair of gloves and a proper winter coat since you don’t seem to own any,” Percival tells him as they start down the road, hand-in-hand.

Newt is immensely happy holding Percival’s hand because it’s a rare opportunity where Percival “Not-In-Public” Graves-Scamander is initiating such contact _in public_. Percival notices right away—it would be hard not to with the humming and extra bounce in his step. His mate just shakes his head at him and smiles.

They walk down the streets instead of apparating because Percival doesn’t have a specific store in mind. They talk about things and then don’t talk, then talk again, occasionally greeting some friendly stranger that passes them.

The first store that they go into looks intimidatingly fancy, and Newt gets nervous even just standing around and not touching anything while Percival peruses through the racks. He makes Newt try on a few coats to which the salesman responds positively each time as if all of them actually suit him. Even the one that clashes horribly with his overall complexion according to Percival, which makes Newt think he picked it out on purpose just to see what the salesman says. They leave without purchasing anything.

To be honest, Newt isn’t one to dress up for anything; a coat is a coat, whether it be wool or some other material, long or short, as long as it keeps him decently warm and there are enough pockets for Pickett to ride in or for hiding his swooping evil. But then he looks at Percival who is positively dashing in his own nicely-fitted coat and a matching blue scarf and to Newt, he is a sight to behold. Perhaps it’s something along those lines for his husband, too? But that’s ridiculous, and Newt snorts at his own speculation.

“See something amusing?” Percival asks as they head into another shop.

“No, it’s nothing,” Newt answers.

Percival gives him a look that Newt can’t read before walking ahead to talk to an employee who seems to recognise him. He watches them converse, occasionally glancing at him, and wonders what that expression had meant.

He joins them when his husband calls him over, and then the salesman—a tall, thin, beta gentleman with no hair and a generous beard—is scrutinizing him from head to toe and back before nodding to himself. And then it’s a repeat of the first shop except the salesman’s opinions sound far more genuine, and his praises fluster Newt.

At one point, Percival stares intensely when Newt puts on a particular coat that’s grey and long and quite warm, and for some reason it makes Newt blush.

“We’ll take this one,” he informs the gentleman without taking his eyes off Newt. “And the navy-coloured one from earlier.”

“Of course, sir; they’re wonderful choices.”

Newt doesn't get what makes them different from the others, but he trusts his mate who always dresses himself impeccably. He shrugs off the coat carefully and hands it over and Percival finally turns away.

“Newt, would you go pick out a pair of gloves?” he tells him as he picks up Newt’s actual coat. “Any that are sufficiently warm and fit comfortably will do.”

Then he heads over to the counter, and Newt doesn't hear what the prices are because they're already paid for by the time he makes it back with his selection. The gloves themselves are quite expensive but not completely unaffordable from what Newt can tell, and it makes him nervous to think how much his husband has actually spent on him in total. It must definitely be a fortune by Newt’s standards.

It’s not something he understands, this idea of luxurious spending on clothing when one can find something similar for a lesser cost and spend the rest elsewhere on far more necessary things like, like—

He can't think further with his mate gazing at him with such a pleased, satisfied expression as he fixes the collar of Newt’s new coat and pats down his shoulders, brushing off whatever he sees on the surface.

“Do you like it?” Newt blurts out.

“Oh, quite,” his mate _purrs_ and Newt gapes at him. “Don’t you?”

“I—I, um, yes, I—” Newt stammers, feeling himself turn red. “I suppose—I mean, yes, of course. Thank you.”

He thinks he can feel Percival’s eyes physically drag over him and goodness, his alpha is rather proud to be gazed upon with such appreciation by his omega. He doesn’t realise he’s gripping his new gloves too tight until Percival gently pries his fist open to take them and put them on for Newt. There’s a slight distortion in the fit where his ring is but he doesn’t care and neither does Percival, it seems.

Then Percival steps in and Newt’s mind goes blank when he buries his nose right under Newt’s jaw. Newt unfreezes enough to glance around and sees that the clerk has made himself discreet and there are no other customers; then he holds still as his mate scents him. It takes a few moments for him to form a coherent thought and something must be wrong because Percival doesn’t do _public displays of affection_ and usually it’s Newt who has to stop himself from reaching out all the time.

“The coat smells good on you,” his mate sighs as he draws back, then fusses with the collar again before grabbing Newt’s hand and leading him out.

Newt doesn’t say anything as they walk because he is still trying to process what had happened in the store and he really likes holding hands like this. If he asks if anything is wrong, Percival might realise he is acting unusual and stop.

A sudden chill that has nothing to do with the frigid weather runs down his spine as a frightening thought occurs to him: is this really Percival? He recalls the surprising use of an endearment from earlier this morning before his husband had started initiating contact outside of their home. But Newt has been with him the whole time so it’s impossible—unless it had been during their nap? Yet he also knows about the wards Percival always keeps intact around the house and—

He looks over at his mate while keeping his face passive as he can, subtly takes a sniff. It’s definitely him; nothing known to mankind can replicate the unique scent of an individual. Newt sighs in utter relief then feels absolutely foolish for the brief moment of insanity. Percival just might be feeling generous today, or perhaps he’s comfortable enough to show this side of him now.

Percival turns his head and meets Newt’s eyes. “Is everything alright, Newt?”

Newt flushes in embarrassment even though his mate has no clue what just went on in his head. “Yes? I mean, yes. Perfectly fine.”

Percival moves them to the side and stops before staring at Newt, face unreadable. Maybe he’s trying to read Newt’s mind so he builds his shields the best he can just in case.

“You seemed confused about something,” Percival says more than asks, eyes narrowed.

“I was just thinking,” Newt mumbles, glancing away.

“About?”

“It was nothing.”

When he glances back hesitantly, Percival's brows are furrowed and lips downturned.

“Really,” Newt says hastily, “it was something stupid.”

Definitely not something worth mentioning and possibly hurting his mate because Newt is paranoid and isn’t dealing with this change in behaviour very well. But it doesn't seem to reassure Percival because he looks frustrated for a moment before visibly calming down and Newt bites his lips nervously.

“If you say so,” Percival sighs, and Newt feels a bit guilty.

Percival reaches up and brushes his thumb across Newt’s bottom lip, causing him to gasp in surprise, then rubs softly the area that was bitten.

“Don’t do that,” he scolds gently. “It’s bad for your lips, especially in this dry season.”

 _Merlin_ , Newt isn't sure he can take much more of this even though his alpha is thoroughly enjoying the attention. “Okay,” he says weakly.

Percival nods, seemingly satisfied with his answer. They continue walking and when Newt asks where they're going, Percival answers that he doesn’t know. Though still confused, the guilt and uncertainty slowly dissipate and are replaced by elation. He realises soon enough that this must be a date, that there is no purpose to this aimless walking other than spending time together. The thought warms him more than his new coat and gloves combined.

 

 

Half an hour later, they enter a café because of the chill and it’s also time for Percival’s afternoon coffee. Newt gets a glare for that when he mentions it but he can only grin in response.

Newt lets Percival take his coat and gloves with him when he goes to find seats while Newt orders. He’s somewhat impressed with their selection of tea, but in the end he chooses a simple black tea and a slice of pie to eat with their drinks. Newt then casually looks around the interior as he waits for the order.

It’s a No-Maj establishment and there are quite a few customers here despite the cold weather. The place is decorated with a rustic, warm colour scheme, using wooden tables and chairs and faded photographs framed on brick walls. Soothing classical pieces play in the background, just loud enough to be heard if one were to listen properly. It smells richly of dark coffee and baked goods.

The drinks and newly-warmed pie are placed on a tray when ready and he picks it up, wondering if Percival is feeling generous enough to let Newt feed him. He makes his way to the corner where Percival is sitting and looking out the window and Newt stops, admiring his mate’s profile for a moment.

Percival is leaning forward on the table with his chin in hand, shoulders relaxed and legs crossed. With the coat and scarf removed, his lovely neck is on display for anyone to see and Newt has a sudden desire to cover it up again. He’s something like an elegant painting and Newt wishes he can take a photograph of this sight to keep with him wherever he goes.

As intimidating as he is as the Director of Magical Security, Percival is also beautiful in all the ways he chooses to be, whether as a commanding presence, a soft-hearted caretaker for his creatures, or even a sleepy morning grouch, and many others.

When Percival turns his head and sees Newt, a soft, content smile slowly stretches across his lips, reaching the corner of his kind eyes and Newt’s heart stutters in his chest. Newt quickly strides the remaining distance and sets the tray down carefully, not taking his eyes off of his mate. He wants to kiss that gorgeous smile but there are people here and surely this is where Percival draws the line.

Then Percival calls him _alpha_ , blinking up at him and it evokes something, an urge to lay a claim on him right here and now so everyone will know that this man is _his_. Newt shakes his head sharply to snap out of it and slowly lowers himself onto the other chair, not looking at his mate, ashamed by his own instincts.

It’s barbaric, he tells himself, and Percival is his own person, not Newt’s possession. He glances up to see Percival taking the first sip of his coffee and closing his eyes as he lets out a quiet noise of pure satisfaction. As oblivious as the man is to Newt’s current conflict, the sound immediately soothes his alpha as if his mate is satisfied because of Newt’s care and not the coffee. It’s a rare noise that usually happens because of nice, hot cup according to Newt’s observation, but it never fails to satisfy him as well.

Newt grins when Percival looks at him, and his mate rolls his eyes. His own cup of tea is nothing remarkable, certainly not as good as it could be, but it isn’t too bad. He also takes the first bite of pie and the perfect combination of tart apple, cinnamon, and buttery crust explodes in his mouth.

“Percival, you need to try some of this; it’s quite delicious,” Newt informs him excitedly after he’s done.

“Alright,” Percival replies, but doesn’t move to pick up his own fork.

Newt falters, confused. “Aren’t you going to try it?”

“I will,” he says, and he must be saying ‘later’ because he still makes no move but then Percival glances pointedly at Newt’s hand holding the fork.

Oh. _Oh_.

Newt just stares for a few seconds, silently asking for confirmation and his mate nods at him. Swallowing, Newt pierces through crust and gooey apple down to the final layer and scoops it up. He hesitates a moment before bringing the fork up to Percival’s mouth and a thrill goes through him as his husband closes his lips around the fork, dragging back slowly and taking with him the whole bite Newt offered.

The man chews carefully, licks his lips clean of the syrupy filling glistening on them, and Newt watches all this with a sort of detached fascination because he is struggling to suppress yet another urge to kiss Percival.

“You’re right,” Percival agrees after swallowing. “It’s very good pie. Another, please.”

And Newt wonders if this is all a dream, the fact that he is on a date with his husband, sitting in a warm, cozy café and feeding bites of pie to him. Percival himself seems unbothered that they are doing this in public and that other customers are occasionally glancing their way. Newt narrows his eyes at the ones whose gazes linger on his husband and they have the decency to be embarrassed about their rude staring.

The pie is soon finished and Newt barely satisfies his urge with an indirect kiss from taking the last piece of pie, but overall, he is content. Amidst all the other scents in the room, he can smell his mate, his happiness, and Newt can’t ask for more than that. They don’t talk for the rest of their stay as they finish their drinks, and Newt appreciates that about Percival, too, that they can share quietness as easily as they share words.

They head towards home, hand-in-hand, and Percival surprises him again by not scolding Newt when he growls at an alpha who tries to demand an apology after bumping into his mate. He doesn’t even say anything about not needing Newt to protect him as per his usual.

“Thank you, Newt,” he says sincerely instead, then frowns. “He was being unreasonable, wasn’t he.”

Newt embarrassingly stammers his agreement, tells him that it was no problem at all.

They take a different route on their way back, and Newt realises what street they’re on ( _how did they get here_ ) and tries to steer Percival another way, only to have his mate stop and arch a brow at him.

“What is the matter, Newt?”

Newt opens his mouth then closes it, repeats the movement. He sees Percival’s lip twitch in amusement at his unintentional imitation of a fish and feels his cheeks heat up.

“This—this isn’t a very nice street, I think,” Newt tries desperately. “Can we go elsewhere?”

Strangely, Percival looks fond yet sad at his poor explanation.

“Alright,” he agrees, and Newt sighs in relief but then, “but there’s a place I want to see first so would you mind waiting for me?”

And before Newt can protest, Percival walks ahead and Newt tries to follow but he unconsciously slows down as he passes by a certain bakery and while distracted, loses sight of his mate.

“Percival?” he calls, but glances next to him through the window.

Jacob is at the counter and their eyes meet, both freezing in shock, eyes widening in disbelief. Jacob recovers first and he smiles tentatively, waving a flour-dusted hand. Newt’s throat tightens painfully all of a sudden and he smiles back, feels it going slightly crooked, and waves. He looks briefly in the direction his mate went before entering the shop guiltily, promising himself that he’ll only say hi. The shop is thankfully empty as Newt approaches his friend.

“Hey, Newt,” Jacob greets him warmly, looking as overwhelmed as Newt feels.

“Hello, Jacob,” Newt manages hoarsely, then clears his throat. “How are you?”

“Good, good,” the man replies jovially. “Getting a bit of a break now thanks to the weather. By the way, congratulations on your mating! Sorry I couldn’t tell you in person.”

He ends on a wistful note and Newt shakes his head, eyes stinging. “No, thank you. For thinking of us.”

Tina had passed on their congratulatory messages and regards at the ceremony in secret since they couldn’t invite the couple and also, Queenie had been close to giving birth. Speaking of...

“How are they doing? Queenie and Artemis?”

Newt still can’t believe they named their infant son after him. Queenie had said it was Jacob’s idea, since if it wasn’t for meeting Newt and being dragged around the city, he wouldn’t be doing what he loved and mated to the love of his life.

Jacob’s face brightens visibly, a smitten look crossing his features. “Oh, they’re both doing very well. Tina comes by to help out when she can because Queenie tires easily these days, understandably, and we’re very grateful for her. And Artie looks just like a miniature-version of you.”

“Oh, that’s cute—wait, what?” Newt exclaims, feels his face slacken in surprise.

Jacob barks out a laugh, a contagious sound that Newt hasn’t heard in a long time, and he grins automatically in response.

“You must be joking,” he says accusingly.

“Well, of course I am!” Jacob says. “One thing to be named after you, another thing to have your features. That’d be impossi—eh, that isn’t true, but let’s not think about that. Here, I have a picture, actually.”

Newt leans his elbows on the counter, a giddy sort of anticipation building in his chest.

“We have a few of those magical moving ones at home,” Jacob whispers conspiratorially even though there are only the two of them, “but we also printed a regular photo so I could carry it around with me.

Newt can’t help but laugh when he sees the photo Jacob pulls out of his apron pocket because little Artie is an exact replica of his father and he’s adorable with his tiny face smiling at the viewer. His friend starts telling him stories about his adventures of fatherhood and Newt gets lost in them for a while. He’s so, so happy for him and Queenie, that they’re finding their way through the challenges.

“So, what were you doing here by yourself?” Jacob asks after sharing how his niffler-shaped pastry had made the baby cry, much to his chagrin. “Besides visiting, I mean.”

“Oh, I wasn’t—” Newt starts, “I’m not—”

Then a chill grips his heart as the realisation that he has left Percival out there alone washes over him.

Jacob looks at him worriedly. “You alright, Newt?”

“Sorry, Jacob, I—I have to go find him, oh dear—”

Newt can hear the distress in his own voice and Jacob’s nodding and telling him to go.

“It was nice seeing you, Newt,” Jacob says sincerely. “I missed you.”

And that snaps Newt out of his panic, he focuses on his friend’s kind but sad smile.

“I missed you, too, Jacob,” Newt says just as sincerely, ignoring the sting of tears. “Thank you for sharing such precious stories with me.”

“I’ll be here with more of them if you ever end up in the area again,” Jacob offers.

Newt nods although he is uncertain if this will happen again. He waves a final time before leaving the bakery, immediately running towards where he last saw Percival. He had spent a good half-hour with Jacob so there is no lingering scent to provide further clues to his mate’s whereabouts, and he is debating between apparating to cover greater distances or going back and trying every store. He doesn’t even run for two blocks before he spots Percival stepping out from a clothing store. He puts on an extra burst of speed to reach the man before he disappears again.

“Percival!” Newt calls, his chest going tight with something when his mate notices him.

“Have you been waiting long?” Percival asks, as if Newt hadn’t left him to—to fraternize— “I had trouble picking one out, but I hope it suits you.”

Newt looks at the bag Percival holds up in front of him with confusion, wondering what in Merlin’s name he’s talking about, and did he not notice they were passing Jacob’s bakery earlier? Newt watches blankly as his mate pulls out a wool scarf that is a deep burgundy and wraps it around Newt’s neck. Percival looks contemplative, tilting his head slightly, then nods to himself.

“It doesn’t clash with your hair, I suppose,” he remarks casually as he tucks the ends through the folded loop.

It hits Newt like a physical blow as Percival adjusts the scarf that this is no coincidence, that Newt had happened to lose sight of his mate in a barely crowded street only to pass his friend’s store as Newt searched for him. That Newt had left the bakery panicking over Percival just to find him stepping out of a store not far off like he had been occupied the whole time.

And, unknown to Percival, that Newt had not remained frozen in the store and was able to chase after his husband finally to find him waiting at the end.

Newt doesn’t cry surprisingly, even though his heart is about to burst, full of love and adoration for his mate who is as caring and thoughtful as he is clever and charismatic. He doesn’t think, either, lowering his head as Percival looks up to capture his mouth in a kiss and catching him off guard if the muffled noise is any indication.

And when Newt draws back, it’s to the sight of pink cheeks and eyes shifting away in embarrassment. Newt is secretly pleased, finally succeeding as the one to fluster the other for once today.

Percival turns back and glares, and Newt holds his hands up in surrender.

“I’m sorry; please forgive me?”

But they both know he isn’t sorry about the kiss, and Percival huffs before pulling Newt in by his scarf and kissing him even deeper than Newt had. He then lets go abruptly and wipes moisture from Newt’s lips with his thumb.

“It seems I will have to remind you again of the rules, Mr. Graves-Scamander,” Percival says with a wicked smirk, and starts walking away while ignoring the scandalised or interested looks of those around them. Some appear to be both.

Newt blinks dazedly at Percival’s retreating back, absently thinks that his mate wins and he admits defeat quite happily. He moves quickly to catch up, grins when Percival, without even looking, holds out a hand behind himself for Newt to grab. Snow starts falling when they’re halfway home, and Percival hurries them to the nearest apparition point for the rest of the way, saying that Newt should keep his coat clean. Newt thinks that it’s ridiculous to invest in expensive clothing and not even be able to use it for their proper function, but Percival has his quirks just as Newt does, so he won’t say anything.

By the time they arrive home, Newt no longer feels cold.

 

 

 

 

**_Epilogue_ **

 

 

Percival stretches on his way back to the bed and groans soundlessly at the pleasant and not-so-pleasant aches in his muscles.

Today had been especially tiring, what with spending at least four hours outside in the cold then coming home to feed the hungry ones. Lady had been unusually upset when he had gone to her—possibly by his extended absence—which is why she is currently asleep by Newt’s feet and also why the massaging session from Newt earlier this evening had stayed at massaging. Percival can only hope there will be no accidents tomorrow.

He slides under the covers, leans on his elbow and looks down at his sleeping husband. He looks at peace, face relaxed and no longer haunted. Something in Percival’s chest loosens with the knowledge that for now, Newt is safe and happy.

This morning, Percival had been at a complete loss when Newt had broken down crying and the man wouldn’t tell him anything even though they had promised to be more open with each other. For all his bold behaviours and general ignorance of social cues, Newt is surprisingly tight-lipped when it comes to talking about himself. Even during their courtship, he had only talked when pushed to the breaking point, and Percival had wanted to outright demand an explanation several times during their outing today.

At first, he hadn’t known what to do other than drag both of them outside for fresh air, but little by little, as he paid all his attention to his alpha, it all came naturally. Percival realised after the third time Newt had glanced at him, puzzled, he had never validated his alpha in the eyes of others.

As unconventional as they both are with regards to their gender, it isn’t healthy for them to live completely in denial of their biology and instincts. Percival isn’t one for submission, yet from time to time, he needs to be shown that he is cherished and desired. Newt isn’t one for dominant posturing, but other people should be aware that Percival belongs to his husband, not to be coveted or lusted after carelessly.

And they _aren’t_. They don’t acknowledge it because Percival has always been telling Newt ‘not in public’ and his sweet, giving mate had respected it the best he can.

Percival had naturally been able to dote on his mate after giving into his instincts to a certain extent, and had watched his anxious, uncertain alpha blush adorably under his attention and delight in every touch. He had especially enjoyed letting Newt feed him pie, the man’s adoration spilling from his eyes, his body language, his scent.

Letting Newt visit Mr. Kowalski had been a spur of the moment decision, casting disillusionment spells to divert Newt’s attention, knowing he wouldn’t expect it. Percival had only stayed a few minutes to watch his alpha laugh joyfully while talking with his friend before walking away.

As a law-abiding, law-keeping auror of MACUSA, Percival cannot condone fraternization, even if Mr. Kowalski is his husband’s good friend. He cannot condone it, but he can conveniently lose his husband in the crowd while he goes shopping and find him afterwards when he’s done.

And all of these things combined had resulted in a positively glowing Newt at the end of the day, who had enthusiastically greeted his creatures one-by-one and offered Percival massages and kissed him relentlessly until they both needed to breathe.

Percival brushes Newt’s hair back from his forehead and smiles when his mate unconsciously leans into his touch. And he thinks how nothing had been difficult for him; not a single thing today had felt like a chore or a great sacrifice on his part. He thinks that this is exactly what love is, what he and Newt do for one another: to accept the person as they are, and giving yourself to meet their needs.

He remembers how Queenie had said to him once that being with the one you love is worth the pain and suffering you face. So far, Percival believes that to be true. They work well together, him and his alpha, and today, he has learned that sitting the person down and waiting until they talk isn’t always the best tactic, certainly not the only one. Sometimes, he needs to trust his instincts.

Thank Merlin that tomorrow is Sunday. Percival is determined to sleep until he can’t sleep anymore, knowing Newt will let him. And if his mate is _excited_ during the day, Percival will not give in. While he may be fit for his age due to his job, he isn’t fit enough to spend a whole weekend having sex with his younger and significantly more energetic husband, although he appreciates being wanted in every possible way by him.

Percival leans over and kisses Newt’s forehead before lying down properly and presses close to Newt, wrapping an arm around his waist. He sighs contently as his alpha’s body heat and scent envelop him and it lulls him slowly to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, what happens to Newt in the beginning is something I've experienced before and it's kinda weird like a painful/sad memory hits you out of nowhere and you just respond emotionally to it. Unfortunately, I didn't have a Percival when it happened to me but I now live vicariously through these fictional characters, yay.


End file.
